


picture perfect

by milktxt



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, Crushes, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Sad Johnny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milktxt/pseuds/milktxt
Summary: Johnny is a photographer in quest of inspiration and Ten meets him right where he needs him





	picture perfect

What is a picture without a story to tell? There are only so many deserted train stations, unconventional buildings or busy subway stations in early mornings Johnny can capture and it is all starting to look bland and boring. He realizes that he cannot do much to fix it, and it is sad to say that his award-winning career has only lasted for as long as four years.

Johnny dreams of rich burgundies and soft mint greens, of bewitching landscapes and still pictures so full of complex emotions yet so simple on the eye. He does not want to wake up and yet when he does, he is back to the dull reality, to the vicious circle that is everyday life. 

He can’t really pinpoint whether it’s the blaring ringtone of his alarm clock or the icy early morning air that penetrates the thin duvet that makes him want to lie there and not do anything, just wait until he shrivels and dies of dehydration.

He is at the train station today, hopeful he will find something that catches his eye, an epiphany or a revelation that will change the world of photography forever. It probably won’t be the case, though; he’ll go there, take hundreds of pictures, hate every single one of them, delete, go home then repeat. 

The only thing Johnny sees is a swarm of faceless bodies, walking around as fast as they possibly can, trying to catch the first train to wherever they have to go. 

There is so much movement, dynamic and life and any other photographer would be enchanted by the scenery; the only thing Johnny sees is a potential headache.

There’s a bunch of middle-schoolers running around, a stressed-out businessman walking in circles while yelling at his phone and a high-strung city mom pulling her kindergartener son’s hand a little too hard and they’re all pushing Johnny back and forth against other strangers who do not seem very happy about the photographer being all up their personal space. 

He ends up doing more profuse apologizing than picture taking.

It gets kind of annoying after a while, he’s sweating through his low-cut tank top, his bag is half open, documents, wallet, snacks and everything in between so close to collapsing and he’s sure he’s getting tan lines from the camera’s strap around his neck. 

Said camera, his pricey yet trustworthy Canon EOS 5DS, hasn’t captured anything remotely captivating in so long and Johnny decides to call it a day after 45 minutes of intensive glaring around. Delete, go home then repeat.

\--

When Johnny thinks about it, nothing has really triggered his massive creative block. There has been no tragic backstory, no break-up, and no loss of a loved one… Nothing, just a blurry brain buzzing like a staticky TV monitor on a particularly rainy Sunday morning. Johnny thinks it would have been less painful, less poignant had there been a reason; it would not have meant that his career was just plain meaningless.

It dawned on him when he sat at his favorite coffee shop, that day, looking out of the window, eyes completely unfocused. His coffee – black with no sugar and no creamer – was left forgotten on the table as Johnny daydreamed of utter nothingness. “The camera captures what the human eye sees;” Johnny only sees a blurry mash of industrial grey.

\--

There is an empty seat by the railroad, and it's a real blessing given the fact that people usually fight for these types of spots. He guesses people didn't see it, too possessed by the demon of rush hour to be aware of it, rushing into trains, out of trains, pushing each other into a sort of human traffic jam that Johnny just doesn't understand. 

There is nothing appealing about the scenery; it is all just a major pain but Johnny sits there nonetheless, headphones on, plugged into his phone and playing music hard enough to cancel out any external noise. 

He's going through every single picture he has taken at least five times, trying to understand where the problem comes from; he has time, job offers have become scarce lately.

“I don’t get it…” He sighs to no one in particular, but it’s loud enough to get a few heads to turn toward him.  
He has used fast shutter speed, capturing movement in different aperture levels. The focus was more than perfect, blurring the background in such an artistic way. It’s not enough. There is no story behind these still pictures, nothing that ties them together, nothing worthy of moving crowds and awing critics.

“Rush hour” is an overdone concept, appropriated by amateur college students on their first assignments. Johnny remembers taking trains aimlessly on his first year, eyes full of stars and passion taking over reason. 

Now that Johnny thinks about it, the pictures were not that great. His low-light shots were blurry and he used to cheat sometimes, using automatic mode when picture didn’t come out the way he envisioned them. However, his smile was there, and so was the excitement when he would stop at completely random train stations, hours away from his hometown, ready to explore whatever was behind the door.

When Johnny snaps back into present time, rush hour is over, the train station is almost deserted and the only people still standing are frustrated students who have missed the first train. 

Johnny sighs as he closes the lid of his camera, he has nothing to do here anymore, it’s time for him to go home and pursue the usual routine. Johnny likes routine, it’s comfortable and it never lets him down.

Today is different... Of course, someone has to take a seat in the plastic chair situated right next to his, invading his private bubble and staring at him with big curious eyes. Out of all the empty seats, Johnny thinks. It’s suffocating, Johnny is uncomfortable and almost irritated and the stranger just would not stop staring.

 

“Neat camera!” The stranger finally speaks and Johnny wants to retort, ask him what would he know about cameras anyway? He wants to just stand up and leave but he turns around and faces the stranger. 

His determined eyes falter as he takes in the face of the beautiful stranger with the warm eyes and perfectly styled hair, kindly smiling at him. He’s beautiful, Johnny thinks, better looking than anyone he’s ever seen on the streets.

“It’s a 5DS right? It’s a pretty safe and standard choice. You’d need a fast shutter speed or a mirror lockup to get a good outcome from the sensor but other than that, it’s a trustworthy one you got there.” The stranger says. He sounds like knows what he is saying as if he’s been there and done that and his eyes shift back into the overpriced camera around Johnny’s neck. “You’re a professional, right?”

Johnny laughs, bittersweet and borderline sad. “Yeah, I like to think I am, although I haven’t taken anything worthy of a professional photographer in a while.”

The stranger’s look moves away from the camera to take a good look at Johnny’s expression, eyes so focused on his face that Johnny can’t help but break the eye contact. 

There is something so intense about the man and yet so comforting and honest, it makes Johnny want to bask in his warmth, bundle up against him, spill out all of his problems and cry until no tear is left in his body. It’s exhilarating and downright terrifying.

“Creative block can be quite a bitch, huh?” The stranger sighs. There is no sign of pity or sympathy in his voice; it’s just a statement. 

“Right,” Johnny answers. He is not using that condescending tone anymore. They are both staring at whatever is in front of them, careful not to meet the other’s eyes. The stranger is grinning widely, Johnny can pretty much feel its warmth, and it makes the corners of his mouth curl up just a tad bit.

“My name is Ten, by the way. I'm here because I missed my train… and the train after that.” He says no hint of shame, embarrassment or regret in his words. “I'm pretty sure I'll get kicked out by my client the second I step into the studio; if I ever get to work that is…”

“If?”

“I don't know... I like it here; I'm tempted to call in sick.” Ten shrugs, his eyes are mischievous and his lopsided grin would lure anyone into his trap. He is playing with the zipper of his seemingly packed bag and Johnny wonders what is in there. 

The photographer doesn't even want to go home anymore, his ass is burning from sitting too long on the hard plastic, his shirt is clinging onto his chest like a second skin and the camera strap feels heavy against his neck. Nevertheless, something about the beautiful Ten makes him want his company.

“Well, you're welcome to stay here and contemplate life with me on these amazingly dirty, uncomfortable plastic chairs!” He’s feeling bold, and it's a change in his routine, a much-welcomed one. “I'm Johnny, by the way.”

-

They end up leaving the station anyways in favor of a coffee shop. “There’s air conditioning and food, my treat!” Ten says and there is no way Johnny can refuse free food. 

“I can’t refuse free food!” 

The shop is a small cozy corner store littered with succulents and plants hanging from the ceiling. There are only two other customers, which is understandable given the fact that it’s post rush hour. Ten rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt and tries to adjust the fit of his slacks. He looks uncomfortable.

Johnny asks him when they finally take seats and get comfortable. They are both downing their iced coffees. “You look so formal; does your job require you to dress up on a daily?

Ten lets out a long and exasperated sigh.

“Not all the time, no. Only when I’m meeting clients. I hate working for corporations, they’re too demanding and shut down every seemingly fun and creative idea, I have.” It’s ironic coming from a man who dresses like a corporate heir, but what does Johnny know?

“Where do you work?” Johnny tries, testing the waters and his eyes are fixated on the way Ten’s features soften and his smile is brighter than ever, on the way his eyes crinkle as if he’s about to go on a rant about his passion. Johnny’s always had a soft spot for passionate people.

“I’m a photographer as well! I mostly do fashion and advertising photography,” Ten replies. He takes out a camera from his bag; it’s a Mark III, Johnny notices, a gem handled with utter care and almost affection and Johnny can tell how much Ten loves what he’s doing. He can’t help but feel amateurish when he looks at Ten and it makes him want to hide. 

“I’ve actually done a bunch of famous pictorials for luxury brands advertising campaigns; I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, especially since you’re a photographer yourself.” 

Johnny is taken aback by Ten’s bold statement and he’s wondering whether the man sitting in front of him is bragging. He isn’t. His elbows are on the table, and his chin is propped against the back of his hands, eyebrows furrowed. He looks genuinely curious and Johnny’s more than ready to just melt into the decor and hide in embarrassment. He’s sitting with this good-looking big shot photographer while he isn’t worth much himself.

“That’s… embarrassing.” Is all he can say, eyes looking down at his big iced coffee that looks so interesting all of a sudden. Johnny’s never been a theoretical person and of all the photographers that he’s studied in college, only Stephen Wilkes’ name remains in his memory.

He expects Ten to be offended, to frown and leave; or even worse, leave and let a broke Johnny pay for the drinks but it’s not the case. Ten’s head is thrown back and he lets out a genuine hearty laugh at Johnny’s reaction. 

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed about it. If anything, I’m glad. Photographers will nitpick my work and ask me why I chose to do this, not that. Honestly, I don’t know half the shit I’m doing, so technicalities aren’t my forte.” 

Johnny learns that Ten is the mastermind behind big brands ads, that he works mostly freelance and that he is self-taught. It puts Johnny, who’s taken intensive classes for four years, to shame.

“I actually went to college for mechanical engineering, can you believe that? I hated every second of it, everyone was so focused on themselves and no one actually took time to interact outside of school. It was horrible, so naturally, I dropped out of college. Haven’t talked to my parents since then but I guess passion makes up for it?”

It’s as if Ten’s asking a rhetorical question. He doesn’t seem bothered about being on bad terms with his parents and Johnny wishes he could be as carefree as the man facing him.  
“Trust me, going to college for photography doesn’t propel you to stardom…” Johnny assures. “It’s fun and all, but it’s nothing you can’t look up on the internet.”

“Sounds like a waste of money to me…” Ten muses, probably to himself. He looks up at Johnny with a teasing smile. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken. You have no idea how let down I was when I realized that I could be doing all that learning for free.” Johnny is only half joking. Ten is attentively studying his every move, making Johnny stutter out a nervous laugh. “I did enjoy the hands-on practice and the assignments, though!”

“Sure,” Ten doesn’t look very convinced. “What about now, though? Are you enjoying it?”

There’s no judgment in Ten’s voice. Johnny can tell that the question comes out of pure curiosity but he can’t help but marvel at his boldness.

“Now, I don’t know,” he shrugs. Ten just nods and moves onto a completely different topic. Is the man bad at reading people, or is he extremely good at it? Either way, Johnny tries his best to move on as well. 

By the time they leave the coffee shop, it’s already early afternoon. Johnny is beaming after he sees Ten off, -not without exchanging numbers. For the first time, he goes back home feeling accomplished and joyful, a feeling he hasn’t had in a while. For the first time, the white walls of his apartment, the lonely dirty coffee cup in the sink, the dirty laundry don’t really seem to bother him at all.

-

“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me today, Johnny!” Ten dramatically exclaims into Johnny’s speaker. 

Johnny’s smile grows wide as he hums into his phone, waiting for Ten’s daily rant. They’ve been doing that a lot recently, call each other at ridiculous hours and talk about random things. It makes Johnny happy, he’s beaming most of the time, and his house doesn’t seem as bleak and lifeless when Ten’s laughing aloud on the phone, filling his living room with colors he has never noticed before.

“I’m pretty sure the world hates me today! I missed my train and stood there waiting in the rain. The client had the guts to lecture me about punctuality. Hello, I’m not your corporate employee, you can’t just take out your pent-up frustration on me. Don’t you hate it when that happens? My presence itself is a blessing to your company.”

Johnny’s laugh is reverberating across the living room. He can vividly imagine Ten huffing and puffing wherever he is right now. He can almost picture him; shoulders slumped, pouting as he complains. Johnny can’t really relate since he’s always been known for his impeccable work ethics, but he sympathizes anyways, trying to reassure Ten in the best possible way.

“There, there. They will come around, eventually.” They don’t.

“You’re really bad at this, Johnny…” Ten complains, voice slightly high pitched and he stresses on the ‘Johnny’. It makes the older’s heart jump at the sound of it. He’s sure it’s unhealthy and Ten will be the reason for his death.

They fall into a comfortable silence, Ten is humming into the phone and Johnny is sprawled out on his couch, mindlessly listening to Ten’s half-assed singing. It feels great. It's as if Ten was there by his side as if they’d known each other forever. As if Johnny’s never ever felt lonely.

“How was your day, Johnny?” Ten suddenly breaks the silence; his tone is wary and cautious, completely aware that it is quite a sensitive topic. Johnny wants to tell him that it isn’t, that it’s okay to let his guards down when talking to him, but they haven’t known each other for longer than a month after all, no matter what Johnny feels.

“Old same, old same.” Johnny sighs. He didn’t take his camera with him today. He thought that maybe if he didn’t take his camera, he’d see things he didn’t notice before. 

He’s walked miles, hands deep into his pockets and eyes on the lookout for anything worth his time, a new perspective, interesting textures, landscapes, facial expressions, anything….

“I sometimes feel like I should just quit and go find another job.”

“Johnny…”

“What’s there for me anyways? Who says people will even look at my portfolio after that, I’m not like you, Ten. Have you seen me? I have no charisma; I can’t say one sentence without stumbling over my words. The whole fresh out of college with professors’ recommendation persona won’t work anymore…”

By the small “ah” that Johnny hears on the phone, Ten doesn’t really seem all that convinced. He hears a small sigh and he knows Ten’s looking for the right thing to say. It’s overwhelming, he hangs up after making up a whole bunch of excuses on why he needs to go, and how he’ll talk to him later. He knows Ten will call him anyway, he always does.

Ten always calls, he always texts, documenting every single aspect of his life. Johnny is overjoyed when he wakes up to pictures of Poky, Ten’s cat, his failed attempt at breakfast, early morning skies or things as random as tree leaves or one-quarter of his nephew’s grumpy morning face.

Johnny’s gotten used to waking up to Ten’s texts. They make Johnny believe that Ten hasn’t gotten a grip on adulthood just yet. Today, Johnny isn’t awakened by one, but a multitude of texts sent one after the other. 

At this point, Johnny is half-laughing and half-crying, mourning what could’ve been the most peaceful and cozy morning he’s had in a while. His phone on his bedside table seems too far away and the stretch of his arm is almost painful. He hopes it’s an emergency this time, a text worth waking up to.

From: Ten; 7.26 a.m.  
Do you think it’s socially acceptable to order pizza for breakfast?

From: Ten; 7.27 a.m.  
And Coke.

From: Ten; 7.27 a.m.  
Pizza and coke sound like a good idea right now…

From: Ten; 7.28 a.m.  
So apparently, pizza places don’t open at 7:30 a.m. It’s an abomination. 

It isn’t. It is most definitely not worth waking up to and Johnny makes a memo at the back of his mind to put his phone on silent before going to bed starting today. 

To: Ten; 7.32 a.m.  
omg Ten, make yourself some coffee like the rest of the world.

He angrily types away. The reply comes faster than it takes Johnny to put his phone back on the table and go back to sleep.

From: Ten; 7.32 a.m.  
I’m not a chef, Jonathan.

If there’s one thing that Johnny’s most definitely learned in the few weeks he’s known Ten for, it’s that Ten needs to stay away from kitchens. It’s endearing, to say the least, and he’s glad he’s able to see past Ten’s bold aura and picture perfect face.

-

The first time Johnny visits Ten’s studio, he feels like a freshman again. He’s mesmerized by everything, wants to touch everything, wants to use every piece of equipment and it’s probably annoying to Ten.

“Sorry about that, I’m too excited!” Johnny sheepishly smiles, his hand nervously ruffling the back of his head.

Ten smiles fondly at his childlike curiosity. Johnny can clearly see the little crinkles at the outer corners of Ten’s eyes when the man laughs, the way his hand subconsciously moves to dishevel his previously perfectly styled hair, and the tongue that darts out to lick at his seemingly dry lips and everything in between.

“So… That’s my little freelance corner. I take it you like the place?” Ten asks and he almost looks proud. It’s not hard to see why Ten takes so much pride in his workplace; it makes Johnny feel out of place. 

His own “little freelance corner” is the large Ikea cupboard that barely fits all of his cameras and other equipment. He nods, though, because who is he kidding? He loves everything about the studio, from the state of the art equipment there to the man who owns the place.

“It’s incredible, Ten.” He assures. “Goddammit, I feel so underqualified, now.” Johnny groans and it takes him a split second to regret and wish he hadn’t said it aloud. 

Ten’s gone from adjusting his camera’s settings to looking at him with a pained expression. He knows Ten doesn’t like to hear him wallow in self-pity, but there’s nothing but truth in his words.  
“Don’t say that. If there’s anything you’re not, it’s underqualified.” Ten sighs. He’s said it many times before; Johnny’s heard it more than once.

“C’mon. I’ve seen your portfolio before. You’re incredible.” Ten points out. 

Johnny’s showed Ten his portfolio, not sans a lot of whining coming from the younger. Ten had looked quite impressed with Johnny’s work and the latter couldn’t say he wasn’t feeling proud and boastful that someone as influential as Ten was appreciating his work. It felt like one of the biggest seals of approval. 

He hasn’t taken anything worthy of approval in a while.

“Whatever…” 

Johnny looks down, almost ashamed of his own childish behavior. He's supposed to be enjoying his day and yet, he's ruining it for both himself and Ten. 

The latter is back to fixing the settings of his camera, single-handedly handling the device while his other hand is carrying a tripod. His eyes are narrowed in focus, that tongue that drives Johnny crazy is darting out again and he wonders if there are any instances in which Ten doesn’t look beautiful. 

The natural light from the studio’s window casts a soft shadow on Ten’s face and emphasizes Ten’s delicate features. It all makes for a perfect picture and for the first time in ages, Johnny is itching to get his camera. 

Ten is humming to himself when Johnny snaps a picture. It happens like a flash, the composition is perfect and Johnny’s hands are shaking as he presses the shutter release.

For the first time in ages, Johnny feels good. The adrenaline rushes through his veins in a way he’s never experienced before. Taking a picture’s never felt so good and yet when Ten turns around to look at him, the realization just falls on him like a meteor. 

“Shit, I’m sorry…” Johnny figures he’s starting to look like a creep. What else would you call someone who almost pops a boner after taking someone else's picture so suddenly? 

“Johnny?”

“Oh my god, that’s awkward…”Johnny stuffs his camera back into his back, avoiding to meet Ten’s eyes.

“No, it’s-“

“I have to go, I’ll see you later.” Johnny dashes out of the studio.

-

It’s the hundredth call from Ten he’s avoided. Johnny can’t take it and every time he hears the generic ringtone playing, he feels like he’s slowing going crazier and crazier. He’s sitting on his living room’s floor, camera in hand and he can’t take his eyes out of the picture. 

It’s beautiful; Johnny doesn’t know if it’s because of his skill or because Ten looks beautiful no matter what. 

He knew he was attracted to Ten, but again, who wouldn’t be? He’s been nothing but a delight in the three months they’ve known each other and in Johnny’s mind, it was only natural he'd appreciate the man in return. 

Yet, the adrenaline rush he felt when the focus was set and the shutter release was pushed was like no other. He's taken many pictures of incredible sights before, the excitement pooling down his veins but nothing compared the Ten’s reflection on his little camera monitor.

Johnny may like Ten just a tad bit more than he thought. 

“Fuck me,” he groans. 

Ten’s way out of his league. He could get himself anyone; he doesn't need a sore loser like him. It’s ridiculous, Johnny thinks, he’s free willingly throwing himself into this dark hole he can’t escape and the image on the screen monitor is a concrete proof.

At this point, Johnny considers moving into another town, possibly another country. It would help to change his name, his identity and maybe grow a mustache for maximum anonymity. 

He drops his camera to the ground, right between his crossed legs and lets out a long sigh he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes are closed, mind full of unwanted thoughts and he doesn’t know how long it is before he hears the loud knocks on his door. They’re relentless and persistent and Johnny is sure that a very angry Ten is the one behind the incessant noise. 

He stands up slowly and he’s reluctant to open when he nears the door. What is he going to say? There’s no way for him to give a rational explanation to what happened back in the studio, other than “you’re beautiful and I may be in love with you.” 

He stands there, facing his front door while listening to Ten’s livid threats of clawing his eyes out if he doesn’t open the door. 

He finally caves in as Ten is yelling “I can hear you’re inside, you fucker!”

Ten rarely ever curses but the man in front of his open door is very much ready to not only curse but also probably throw in some punches too. His hair is disheveled and his glares could burn holes into Johnny’s skin. 

“Hi…?” Johnny’s words are tentative. He knows Ten isn’t here for a friendly conversation and it shows by the way the younger pushes Johnny inside, fingers painfully digging into his shoulder blades. 

Ten closes the door with a push of his foot and the bang resonates into Johnny’s head. 

“What the fuck?” Is all Ten says and he’s standing there, in the middle of his shabby living room, arms crossed and waiting for Johnny to say something. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry for what happened in the stu-...”

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days, Johnny. Don’t give me that studio bullshit.” Ten cuts him. “Nothing happened there. You just decided to make up a whole scene out of it. You took a picture of me; what’s so fucking terrible about it that you’d run away?” 

Johnny is astounded by Ten’s words, more by the colorful vocabulary than the fact that Ten didn’t really mind Johnny snapping a picture.

“You just ran away and left me there alone and fucking confused. I texted you, I tried to call you. But you just decide to ignore me altogether, to hide inside your house and to lament yourself for days.” 

The silence is heavy when Ten finally stops talking. He’s patiently waiting for Johnny to speak, say something, anything. He finally seems to be calming down with every breath he’s taking and Johnny guesses he’s been holding those words for a while now.

“Listen. I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I just… I freaked out, okay?” Johnny starts. He drops his gaze to the floor when Ten cocks his eyebrow, obviously unsatisfied with Johnny’s vague response.

“And?” 

“And what? I just didn’t know what to do. I thought you believed I was a freak because who the fuck just impulsively snaps a picture of someone?” 

“I thought it was cute,” Ten comments. Johnny can hear a slight hint of smugness and teasing in his tone. “It’s a change from being the one behind the camera.” It makes Johnny’s jaw drop.

“Oh…I’m sorry then.” It burns. He wants to say it and finally relieve that ache in his chest.  
They stand in silence for a while. Ten is still standing in the same crossed arms pose, waiting for Johnny to speak. He looks much taller, much bigger, or is it Johnny that feels minuscule?

“Ok, here. I’m gonna say it.” Ten announces. His eyes fixed on Johnny and it drives the latter crazy. “You’re a big idiot and I’m tired waiting for you to ask me out so I’m gonna do it myself.”

Johnny chokes on his spit and he has to tap his own chest aggressively to prevent himself from choking to death.

“I really like you Johnny.”

Johnny blurts out a very eloquent “What?” 

“What? I’ve been waiting for you to get on with it and finally ask me out for so long. You’re dense, aren’t you? I like you a lot but it seems as if you don’t understand it when other people flirt with you.”

“O-oh…” It makes Ten raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Aren’t you gonna say it back?”

“O-oh, of course. I like you too.” 

 

-

 

“Look away from the camera, and turn your head a little to the left.” 

Johnny is kneeling on the ground, trying to capture the moment as fast as possible. Ten is laughing, sitting on a bench at the park, legs crossed and his ice cream is melting all over his hands. He looks beautiful, Johnny thinks as he presses the shutter release for the fiftieth time. 

“Aren’t you inspired today,” Ten chuckles. He’s trying his best to wipe his fingers clean and Johnny thinks it’s adorable how much of a messy eater Ten is. 

“How could I not be inspired when I’m dating such a beautiful prince?” Johnny boasts, standing up from the ground to plant a kiss on Ten’s cringing face. 

“You’re too fucking cheesy, I hate you.” Johnny knows Ten loves it when he’s sappy and corny anyway, so he doesn’t mind the younger’s complaints, especially when Ten’s eagerly kissing him back.

“And you taste like cookies and cream. That flavor is a disgrace to ice cream.” Johnny mumbles and a half-laughing, half-offended Ten playfully pushes him back. 

They still stroll down the city streets holding hands, even though Ten is still feigning offense and looking out to his side, mumbling about how Johnny is always insulting his taste in food and how his ‘bland and boring ass’ wouldn’t understand the joys of cookies and cream anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> my only beta is ms word so i apologize for any mistakes you may find...  
> the recycling chronicles come to an end, I promise!
> 
> hi i'm on twitter, come scream at me [@shinobiyuta](https://twitter.com/shinobiyuta)


End file.
